The Prefects' Bathroom
by ichi.ruki
Summary: A/U Lemons Ahoy! Revenge goes awry when what is seen cannot be unseen. What happens when temptations, desires, and dark secrets reveal themselves unexpectedly? "Parkinson wants Granger to suffer, and to an extent so do I. I want her to suffer me."
1. The Prefects' Bathroom

Beta'd by WeasleyWench_  
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_ The Prefects'Bathroom : Draco's POV _

"It's like this," Parkinson vehemently whispers, "you teach the filthy little hog that she just can't go claiming rights to things like the Prefects's bathroom, and I promise to do that thing you are always begging me to do."

"Do it twice," I bargain with her, "and then maybe I'll consider it."

Pansy stamps her foot and glowers at me, but to be honest I'm not all that interested in doing her any favors - even if the beaver's humiliation is on the table.

"Once, and I'll let you take pictures." Pansy counters.

She attempts to raise her eyebrow coyly at me, but it looks rather malicious. Demure and charming don't fit on Pansy, much in the way smart and refined cannot stick to the likes of Crabbe and Goyle.

"Twice, and let me have pictures of both occasions. And then, and only then, will I do it." I offer up. I'm sure she won't agree to any of it.

As Pansy stands there looking malevolent, I cannot help but wonder as to what the she-beaver has done to work my vengeful little _friend_ into such a state that Parkinson is seriously considering sucking me off, twice, and with pictures no less.

I know with a certainty that stems from my own personal ire that this is Pansy's least favorite thing. The witch rarely consents to do it. However, it's really the only thing I like from Parkinson as it stands. It tends to shut her up quite well.

And as loose as Pansy's reputation maybe, I know for a fact the girl is virgin. She would not risk her father's wrath should the standard Pureblood marriage contract be void upon the discovery that the "flower" has been prematurely picked.

I go back to thinking about what offense might have taken place between these two when Pansy suddenly starts to grin wolfishly. Her large dark eyes begin to flash something ferocious as she casually brushes a stray lock of raven hair from her face. She's not gorgeous, but when she is up to terrorizing the countryside she could be fairly described as electric.

"Fine." She hums breezily as if the terms will ultimately work in her favor, although I can hear a stipulation coming on as her voice turns into a low hiss, "I'll do it, but only on the condition that you make the mud bitch wish she was never born!"

I sigh petulantly; apparently Pansy is just that pissed off.

"Yeah," I drone, "I suppose I could manage that."

"You'll do more than manage Draco Malfoy!" Pansy growls in frustration with me. Her wet eyes snap to mine, and I see her inhale deeply. I'm about to receive a shit storm of angry.

"I want her to cry every time she thinks about whatever it is that will be done to her. I want her to turn red and run from the room completely mortified every time she thinks of that humiliation! And when people notice, notice that she is utterly reduced to tears just by the sight of you, and by extension the reminder of her shame, so that..." Pansy breaks off, before inhaling deeply. Parkinson shakes her dark head, jet-black hair swaying free, as she clears her thoughts.

Her eyes narrow at me as she grits, "So that when the speculation comes, I want the worst of it to be spread like cursed fire! "

A livid blush rises in her cheeks, and she trembles in anger slightly. I've always thought she was a little over dramatic at times.

"Again Pansy, that's great and all, but for merely kicking you out of the Prefects' bathroom, I'm going to need something a little more to go on here."

Pansy is practically panting in the heat of revenge. I am already bored with our conversation; Pansy wanting revenge is old hat. The girl has a revolving death wish for a new person almost every week. And really, anything that puts me in a position to interact with molar girl, such as attending the same classes, currently stretches the limits of my thin patience.

Honestly, I don't need an excuse to humiliate Pansy's new target of the week. I already loathe Granger. She is insufferable, arrogant, and above all, a boring little show off with no real life but that of the ones she reads about in books. All our seven years has shown this girl to be a little wound up prude. When she was being tortured by Aunt Bella, running around with St. Potter, I just know that "good and light shall always prevail, just try harder Potter" attitude was heavily in the mix. Nothing phases that bitch, she may tremble, cry out in pain, fight, cry out in fear, but she also plans, and has always been talented enough to get by, it would seem she is as resilient at that fucking savior of hers.

I have no doubt that little muddy-Mudblood probably has wet dreams over things like liberating all the house elves, or helping Potter, or Weasely to not fail almost every one of their exams. Add in the annoying little fact that she aids Potter in his little half cracked adventures, and I stop to consider that loathing may have been too light a word.

That he's saved my life means little else other than, despite all appearances, I do not desire him dead. And for that reason alone, I find it enough to hate him still, as well as all those within his little world, especially his little mud bitch.

"What if I were to tell you that beaver face secretly…" Pansy says to me, breaking into my thoughts before she halts. I blink at her curiously as I note that her face hardens as she casts a look around to make sure our conversation is not being overheard.

Deciding there are too many people in the hall, the Parkinson grabs my shoulder to better whisper into my ear. I feel Pansy's sticky hot breath on the shell of my ear as she tells me all the sordid things she suspects Granger of, things that just do not sound remotely true. Letting me go I can feel Pansy smirking at my dumbfounded reaction. I really don't know what to say.

Parkinson folds her arms pompously over her chest. She is watching me consider the information she has just presented.

"Well Pansy that was informative" I hear myself murmur.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

"I'll get back with you on what I'm planning when I find the right trick," I mumble.

"I want her crying in shame Draco." Pansy growls. Her eyes are as dark as coal.

"In good time witch, I've got some jinxing and hexing research to do; now if you don't mind-" I sneer.

I whip away from her not even bothering to say good-bye. I hear her winding up to yell at me, but as I walk away I stick my hand up and wave her off. Our conversation is done. I've got a lot of work to do, and I doubt Pansy even considers that I have every intention of verifying her claims.

It is later that I find myself in the Prefects' bathroom. Unfortunately I had to get the password from the other Slytherin prefect, who then has to be Obliviated, seeing as Pansy's privileges to that room have been permanently revoked. The only thought I have is that it is troublesome to go through the extra effort; it makes me wonder what Pansy has done to get banned. Undoubtedly that slight, in and of itself, is enough to fuel her rage. Honestly it doesn't take much to get her going. This leads me back to the current situation of: me hiding out in the Prefects' bathroom, waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

It doesn't take very long; apparently Granger's internal timetable is as rigid as a clock. Noting that her timing is exact, based on Pansy's accounts, I can't help but wonder if Pansy was right about the other things. It doesn't seem plausible, but I guess I am about to find out.

_Know thy enemy_

I still myself as I hear Granger lock and ward the door. A part of me can't believe I'm really here. I know I've disillusioned myself well, but I can't help feeling a tinge of fear that I'm really going to go through with this "research".

Merlin only knows how badly my corneas will be singed by the raw sight of Mudblood. Suddenly Pansy's barter seems hardly worth it. I am sure another girl out there will be willing to do the things that Pansy has done, if not even more, and who cares if the next girl is as reliable. That matters little when I consider that I'll still have my vision. I can take comfort in knowing that the unnamed girl will also never ask such ridiculousness from me as Pansy has.

Granger takes no notice of me as she sets her things down. I look down at the floor. Why can't I have just hexed her in the hall instead of doing this? I really don't want to watch, but I realize there's no way for me to leave now. I know she can't hear or see me, but that the door should open and close on its own is a dead give away. And while I cannot stand the bitch, I know Granger can be quite wicked when she wants to be. This reminder grants some comfort when I think back to the events of third year. Yes, I think I do want to make Granger pay after all.

In the end I know it is best to just sit here. I need to force myself to go through with this plan. If I can get through this, I'll know if Pansy is right, and more importantly I'll know how to go about making Granger's life a living nightmare. If any of it is true, Granger has got one hell of a year coming her way.

The water starts to run and I look up. My breath catches at the sight in front of me; Granger is standing there with her shirt open, and to my amazement she's not covered in boils or scales, nor is she sporting the excess flaps of skin and hair, defects I've always suspected lay hidden beneath her robes. My world is slightly off kilter at this discovery.

She slides the fabric off, carelessly tossing it over into the pile with her robe and tie. My gaze briefly narrows on her discarded shirt, and I wonder why she isn't folding everything up like the little fastidious bitch I know her to be.

I hear her sigh as she moves to unzip her skirt. As the tab is pulled the rhythmic grind of the zip on tiny teeth lulls me into a hypnotic trance. I watch as her skirt sways free of her hips, and tumbles down her legs. Stepping out of the puddle of cloth, Granger gives it a little kick in the general direction of the growing pile.

It is then she hooks a finger into her knee-highs, and goes about the business of peeling off her socks one at a time. My eyes skim over her form; I can't help but to admire how soft her skin looks. I don't know if I always expected a scaly, hairy, boil-marked creature to live under her robes, but right now, that I'm not repulsed at the sight before me, actually scares me a little.

I feel as though the temperature in the room has risen. I loosen my tie to breath easier, as I run trembling fingers through my hair, still failing in an attempt to calm myself. What wrong have I done to Pansy? She must have known I'd come to check out her story, have I been duped into...no, she's Slytherin, through-and-through. She wouldn't wish this on me. Unless, she means to use my own humiliation to fuel my desire to get back at Granger?

Granger is supposed to be mud, vile, and filthy - nothing any normal bloke would want to look twice at. But as she works the clasp of her bra, I can't even tear my eyes away to have the chance to look twice. I marvel at the size and shape of her breasts, having only seen Pansy's chest, I realize that there is no comparison of equals to be had.

Granger's are pert, ever so smooth looking, and on the cusp of completely filling out. I watch entranced as they move lower, I almost miss the reason as to why Granger's wild curls are suddenly spilling over and blocking my view. And it is then, with a horror and fascination I never believed possible, I catch the motion of the Head Girl leaning over to slip out of her knickers. My trance is broken.

I turn my eyes away, my heart palpates, and I feel slightly dizzy. It's almost too much, I'm extremely mortified by the way my pulse has quickened, and even more so than that, I feel my face heat up as I realize I am excited, and that it all comes from wanting to look at that part of that thing that is supposed to be a woman before me.

I try to tell myself it's probably disgusting, as bushy as her hair in fourth year, all tangles and knots. I would not be surprised to look up and see twigs and bits of leaf there either. Granger's hair is wild and unkempt, so therefore, it all must be in a similar state.

But my body doesn't seem to want to agree with this assumption, and I fight myself to keep from looking back at her. I wipe my hands on my slacks trying to calm down. This is all so wrong, I'm supposed to be finding ways I can disgrace this smooth, and all too alluring..._Mudblood!_ She's a beastly animal that only pretends to be a real witch.

_"It's only a Mudblood."_I tell myself reassuringly, _"A disgusting little freak, she has no personality, she is the little book worm, the brains, a mutation! She kisses St. Potter's ass, she coddles the Weasel, she's disgusting, and not quite really a hairy freak of nature. And she is pathologically noble, stubbornly authoritative, somewhat sexy and..." _

And then I panic, what if what Pansy said is true, what if Granger really does the things Parkinson accuses her of?

I desperately want to leave; I can't bear to watch anymore. It's not that I can't watch, it's that I find myself completely willing to watch, that it arouses me. I want to recoil in the revelation, but something keeps me pinned to my station.

What started out as mission to find a way to disgrace the she-beaver has back fired spectacularly. I feel a tingle working its way down my spine, I want to look again, oh Merlin how I want to look, but I'm too embarrassed and proud. I will not succumb to wanking off to the images of Hermione-fucking-Granger taking a bath. I will not! That the Wizarding War is over means nothing. It changes nothing!

_"She's not even that hot,"_ I lie to myself. I try to think of disgusting things to calm myself, like Snape's greasy hair, Sprout's dirty mud-caked knickers, Flitwick's crusty nose hairs, and McGonagall's wrinkled liver spots.

My pulse slows at these thoughts, and I hear Granger slide into the bath. Presumably she will sink out of view. The accompanying splash is my signal to look up again. When I do, I see she is looking in my direction, and I almost groan in frustration as my heart once again begins to pound quickly. My skin buzzes with heat.

I know she can't see me, but the sight of her facing my direction as she stands there waist deep in the bath is all too erotic. NO! How many times will I need to repeat this, not erotic, sickening, just sickening!

I come to this erroneous conclusion, that she should seem even the slightest bit appealing sexually, because she has decided to pin up her hair. Granger's breasts move gently as she finishes tucking up the mess of curls into a loose bun. I am mesmerized by the sight.

I see her coming towards me, and I clutch my wand, just in case I'm not as invisible, or as soundless as I think, though I'm quite sure my skills in charms are far above average.

She grabs her wand from the floor next to the bath. I am about to preemptively hex her when she then turns to face the faucets. My fear downshifts as my curiosity returns. I wonder if this is the thing Pansy hinted at. The steam of the bath is making me sweat, so I loosen a few buttons at the top of my shirt, and I try to relax. I tell myself that Granger's only adjusting the taps to make the bath more comfortable - that and I should not be excited at all.

But I can't help it, and I have to adjust myself because when I saw her that second time, a part of me became a little too excited, and now that part is pressing painfully against my slacks. How did this go so wrong, so fast?

I narrow my gaze on her and try to imagine she's a blast ended skrewt, or some other horrible slimy creature, and that the steam rising off the water only distorts her figure because underneath it all she's a disgusting mess.

I fail miserably when I see what it is she is doing. I groan, not caring, as I know I can't be heard. Pansy is right; for once every bit of her story checks out, the Prefects' bathroom does have a special secret. Sometime during my failed attempts at imagining Granger a disfigured beast, the witch had tapped her wand in whatever fashion to the pipes and stone. Whatever she did, in its place there is a stone recliner and a shower nozzle. I watch on with interest as Granger gracefully hops up onto the stone and reaches for the nozzle. Placing her wand in her hair, she turns on the water and lets the steamy shower run over her body.

I bite my lip in frustration as I try to think sarcastic thoughts, like _"Who lays down to shower, honestly?" _But it is no use, what Pansy had whispered to me only a few hours earlier begins to flood into my thoughts as I watch Granger adjust the setting of the water, instead of a gentle cascade, now a streaming jet of water splashes upon her.

I watch as she rubs herself lazily with one hand as the other directs the spray of water above her, I can see that the pressure is enough to make her skin blanch and blush as the jet stream pushes against her wet skin.

There is no helping it, I am going to see the Head Girl getting herself off, and there is nothing, _nothing_, I can do to stop myself from becoming aroused by it. I hate to admit it, but Granger looks so delectable laying there, smiling as the steamy waters wash away whatever worries she might have had.

I briefly consider joining her, but nix the idea quickly. My humiliation of this witch will have to wait until I have the advantage, the things I could do to her, the evidence I could have against her, but I know for the moment she has a wand within easy reach, and all I can really focus on is the pulsing one throbbing against my slacks. I promise myself that the next time I am in this position I will be ready.

As I watch Granger's slippery form writhe, I can see the tension slip away from her, and I begin to trust in the idea that this is a habit she often indulges in. There is a methodical way about Granger as her hand caresses her breasts, every so often, only pausing to roll nipple, or to squeeze her breasts gently.

The way she moves the nozzle over her soft belly to her thighs and up again, and it is then that I see what Pansy had meant earlier. The very thing that had me confused about the term "watery pleasures" is now suddenly brought into focus. Granger moves the steam of water between her thighs as her fingers move to spread apart her lower lips, revealing that color of pink that every lad fifth year and up brag to have seen at one point or another.

Her hips buck upwards at the contact, and I can hear her breath becoming ragged as she pants. It happens so quickly that I only see Granger's back arch intensely as the first wave of her orgasm hits her, causing her to let out a long throaty moan.

I hiss under my breath, it is becoming difficult sit here and just not wank right along with her. At some point I've abandoned my attempts to find her unappealing. Really the only thing holding me back is my uncertainty, how can I be sure the physical evidence of my release will remain concealed. I've never disillusioned myself to wank before. It is then I realize that I can just catch it my robe and Scourgify it away later, after Granger has left. Besides the chit would need to have eagle's eyes to see a bit of spunk randomly lying about.

Giving in, I free myself, and begin to stroke up and down my length. Softly at first, and then firmly as I imagined what Granger would look like below me as I pound into her mercilessly; it isn't much of a stretch in imagination seeing as she is right in front of me climaxing for what seems like her second time.

I am amazed at the sight before me; I didn't know she had it in her. Her brows are furrowed as if in an intense pleasured pain, and her breasts are moving in time with her shallow breaths. I hear the hitch in her breath before each little whine of pleasure, and each wild gasp as she sails almost effortlessly into that next peak. And whatever it is that is special about that second peak, it is nothing compared to the string of smaller orgasms that follow. She practically bellows in ecstasy.

Granger's eyes shut even tighter as she fights for breath, and every muscle tenses as she reaches for an even superior climax yet. I am almost there with her. A part of me can't even comprehend how she's doing it; I've never known such things before. Watching her lose control is exhilarating in and of itself. She moans and thrashes, persistent in her pursuit of that next peak, and in this moment she is the most erotic thing I've ever seen-or that I could have ever hope to see.

I am now breathing my own ragged breaths when I see her dark eyes suddenly open lustfully, and unseeingly in my direction, that look is the final push I need as I come crashing down.

Releasing forcefully into my robe I continue to watch her. I can tell this is it for Granger, she looks ready to pass out as she nearly screams herself breathless.

As she lays there panting heavily and completely awash in satisfaction, I see her grip loosen until the nozzle falls away from her, splashing into the basin of the tub. The witch's eyes are half-lidded with a certain look of spent rapture.

I come to my senses much more rapidly. It all comes crashing down when I remember...PANSY! Something to do with this bathroom, and its secret is mostly like the cause of why she's been banned - I know it.

Slowly she sits up as if coming out of a daze, wearing a silly smile, as if she's incredibly pleased with herself. And really who wouldn't be, to orgasm so many times would be any warm-blooded wizard's fondest wish.

It is then I looked away again. I wonder a bit as to what I have done. I've crossed a line, although unknown to anyone save myself, I have done the unthinkable. It is one thing to plot humiliation and shame, it is another to put oneself through it and come out the other side with a twisted idea of what to do next. For what I have in store, no doubt is twisted and probably not what Pansy has in mind. But I really don't care what Pansy thinks or wants, she wouldn't have to know anyways, it's not as if I told her what I am doing tonight anyhow.

In fact, the thought of Pansy coming to the Prefects' bathroom to do exactly what Granger has been doing is very off putting, and very obviously has done nothing for Parkinson's mood as it apparently did for Granger's. Even before her Prefects' bathroom privileges were revoked, Pansy's demeanor still left something to be desired, well if one desired anything about Parkinson at all.

Come to think of it, I have noticed Granger acting a bit more calm and collected lately. I can't hold back a smirk; if I succeed in my plans I can have her frazzled and acting edgy again. As for Pansy, I plan to lie to her, I'll tell her I need more time as I mess with Granger's head awhile longer. Maybe that part isn't so much a stretch in the truth.

I hear the basin draining as I come out of my thoughts. I search the room with my eyes, and my nose catches a light scent of lavender and vanilla on a draft. The Head Girl is walking out of the Prefects' bathroom.

I catch a glimpse of her before she disappears and I see that she is fully composed, and has an air of relaxed confidence about her. I quickly Scourgify my robes and begin to right myself before I slip out of the Prefects' bathroom unseen.

I follow Granger surreptitiously and see that she is heading to the library to study. I can't stop myself from rolling my eyes at the sight of her back in tedious prude mode. It is at this moment I think that putting my plan into action right then isn't a half bad idea, if only to throw her off her game and stir things up a bit. I've got a lot of experience with stirring things up.

I quickly hurry to an empty hallway to reverse my charms before giving myself a once over to make sure everything looks normal about me. My fly is done up, my tie on right, buttons closed and robe clean, it all checks out.

Smirking I make my way to the library and from there I seek out my quarry. She has no clue, no clue at all. I feel my smirk become a slight grin as the skin feels parched and stretch, I can't help but to lick my lips.

I make a note to find an inconspicuous way to let Pansy know she can hold off a while on her end of the bargain. Surely Pansy can't object to a vague explanation that suggests a game of cat and mouse. Parkinson wants Granger to suffer, and to an extent so do I. I want her to suffer me.


	2. To Tease the Lion Out of Her Den

_To Tease the Lion Out of Her Den : Draco's POV _

I slip into the library, and no one seems to take notice of my arrival. Scouting the tables for signs of Granger's presence, I tread lightly. Perish the thought that she sees me coming; I have plans for the illustrious Head Girl, and they hinge upon the element of surprise.

I methodically work my way across the rows of tables, throughout the countless stacks of books. When I stumble upon a frightened third year, the look on her face tells me I must seem predatory, that, or my reputation precedes me.

I wager both, and sneering at the sniveling lump of witch, I move on. I mustn't change a thing about my demeanor; I want Granger to quiver in fear much like that pathetic little third year.

I finally stalk past one of the outlying stacks, and I spy a dim light far off in a tiny back corner, just barely concealed behind this row of dusty leather bound bindings. I quietly snort in amusement. Who knew there was even a spot to study back there?

I grin at the thought that this witch's love of obscure tomes and hidden sanctuaries are finally about to net her a certain type of trouble I'm fairly sure she has no idea is coming. With a wickedness, I grin and run my fingers over the book bindings as I make my way back, only stopping as the small light becomes ever brighter.

I watch on silently as her inky fingers skim a line here and there, from this book to that book, then over and under to another in her pile. Her cross-referencing complete, she returns to her ever-lengthening parchment to record and analyze her findings. She has no idea I'm upon her until it's too late.

Moving in the shadows, out of the reaches of her silly orb of light, I find my way behind her and as still as death, I advance. Even as quiet as I am, I can barely contain my wicked delight.

And then in an instant it's over. My hands snatch hers, and I pin her palms to the table, my weight bearing down on her. At first, Granger is too surprised to move, but as she begins to struggle I press her palms flat against the oak surface. My weight, strength, and the whole of my body restrain her now; we both know she is helpless in this position.

"Don't," I growl; I am sure my low voice pounds reverberations into her ear. "I can have my wand on you before your lips even move, and hexed before you ever scream."

I hear Granger let out a peevish sigh; I smile as I catch that she recognizes the timbre of my voice. I wonder how far I can push her before she cracks, but before I can dwell on that line of thought she huffs, and resists me by struggling again.

"Malfoy, let me go now, and maybe I'll let you keep your hands," Granger hisses through clenched teeth.

She growls at the lack of both response and compliance on my part. I can feel my self-satisfied grin deepening. It is then that she stops her pointless resistance.

"Get off!" I hear her strained whisper lash out at me in a way that her body and her magic cannot.

I push her hands against the table harder now, I'm sure the quill is digging into her right palm, but I could care less for her comfort. I use my nose to brush past her hair and a whisper of a taunt floats towards her ear.

"But, Granger, I already have, or weren't you there?"

I feel her stiffen in what must be panic or maybe confusion. I am still positioned behind her, so whatever frightened or befuddled expression she wears remains out of view for the moment.

I feel her relax before she attempts to thrash against me again, testing the limits of my strength over her. I am sure I see the hint of a scowl as I press against her harder; the friction of our hands sliding against each other heats our skin, and it's getting harder to hold her palms flat as they slip under mine, but still I keep her pinned with my arms and my weight. I am her cage.

I can feel her mind practically buzzing as I watch her temple pulse in anger. I know she is tasting the bitterness of futility. She knows she will not win by throwing me off.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy? Look, you know I don't really care to know. Just let me go, or I really will hex you when I free myself," Granger all but growls in frustration at me.

I watch Granger's jaw muscles dance with tension. I don't answer back as I make the next move. I tease her, letting her go momentarily. Before she can grasp for her wand across the table, I have mine trained upon her back.

I jab her with the tip of my wand to be sure she understands that she has no advantage here, and that it would serve her better to acquiesce than resist. With one more prod at her side, I feel assured that the silent message has been received. It is then that I resume taunting her.

"I mean the Prefects' bathroom Granger," I murmur intensely; I want to know what effect this revelation will have.

I smile in satisfaction when I hear her startled intake of breath. I notice her fingers flex anxiously as she tries to still herself from making a desperate grab for her wand. She knows that I have the lead, and that between the two of us, I would be the fastest to react. She doesn't dare to move more than a tiny involuntary twitch.

I lazily start to draw stick figures of what I'd like Granger to be doing to me on her rigid back; this only causes her to tense more as the tip moves lazily down the length of her spine, up the curve of her sides, and across the span of her back.

It is then that Granger inhales deeply, possibly to steady her nerves, and I wonder about moving to face her. I want to see the fear in her eyes. I want to see how her mouth quivers once she completely understands what it is I am after.

"Again I ask: what are you playing at Malfoy?" Granger questions, her tone icy.

I chuckle at the malice in her voice. Moving along the length of her spine again, I use my wand to move her hair off her back and onto her shoulder. I draw a particularly elaborate scene on the nape of her neck. It does not escape my notice that the fine hairs stand on end.

I decide to goad her further by not answering her directly. I'm sure she has no idea as to what it is I'm invisibly depicting upon her form, but the silence between us is thick and suspended in anticipation.

Still I can't help but to sneer at her overconfidence. There is no trembling on her part, and here I expected a little more terror from her, but then it seems I've underestimated her anger and pride. It is then I decide to vanish her blouse. I see her shiver at the loss, but she says nothing. Rather she squares her shoulders and looks straight ahead.

I want to test her. I've already decided that if she looses her barely restrained temper that I will hex her stationary. I know she is probably aware of my trap, but it's that temper I want to coax out of her. I have control over this exchange save for this one thing: her anger. Will she remain in control, or will she relinquish it by forcing my hand? That is the prelude to this game.

"Never mind, Malfoy," Granger groans in harried frustration. "I can only assume you expect that I will somehow give you a special performance then? Let me save you the trouble by telling you now that it will never happen. And if you press on, you'll have to immobilize me, and by that point, anything you do thereafter is rape."

"I'm not concerned by trivial things such as your consent Mudblood." I muse lazily.

I press my wand into her cheek as I move to stand in front of her, the tip never leaving the curve of her face. I make room for myself to sit between her and the table by resting my foot between her legs; knocking her thighs further apart, I gain purchase on the wooden seat, and it is then that I push her chair back to slide between her and the table. I lean back on my new perch and tap my wand against her cheek as if in thought.

Her eyes are flashing darkly at me, and the curve in her bottom lip rests in a defiant frown. I let my eyes roam her form, it's different this time, obviously, and the reaction of her disgust only encourages me to continue. I revel in those loathing looks.

I tap her chin with the hawthorn tip and contemplate just how far I can go before she is forced to act. Where is the line, I wonder? I have no doubt that when she finally turns on me that it will be a fight to prevail. 

"I suppose when I saw you, rutting like a beastie, I wondered why you just didn't fool around with wee Potty or the patchy little Weasel, but with a little more thought put into it, I've decided I know the real reason you sneak off for your daily bath." I sneer at her "And I know that I am very correct in that this is a daily occurrence for you."

"I don't think I would have ever suspected, Malfoy, that you would take such an interest in the personal habits of a _Mudblood_." she hisses in irritation. Her eyes narrow on mine.

Adjusting herself to scoot back a little further, she snarls, "Tell me what did you do when you happened upon me, but-oh, wait, you didn't just happen upon me, did you? Be sure to let your little pug-nosed girlfriend know that this won't get her into that room again."

"I suppose it's a fair assumption," I say casually, "that Pansy and I have a relationship, but sadly for Pansy, it just isn't there."

Granger bristles a bit and then frowns at the discovery that I am I free to do as I please. I have no ties that bind; I've made no promise of fidelity to anyone.

"But all pleasantries aside, what do you think I did?" I ask her silkily. 

I move my wand from her chin to her throat, and I watch her eyes trail after my hand. She swallows thickly before her eyes snap back up to mine, her brows furrow angrily.

"And if I am such a beast," Granger snappishly whispers, "why is it you didn't just go off running, ferret? Something about the event in question strike your fancy?" Sitting up and inching back again, she sneers at me "Well, of course it did. That's why you are here now, pestering me, hoping that I might join you in whatever twisted game you are playing. Well, it won't happen so you can give it up; I will never consent!"

"You assume I'm after your permission, Granger," I drawl in a bored fashion. So far, there has been entirely too much conversation.

She eyes me warily, and I arch a scandalous eyebrow at her.

"How you _do_ presume, hmm?" I chuckle fiendishly.

I decide to continue stripping Granger down to nothing, and with a slight flourish of my wand and a low rush of breath, I have her in her knickers and nothing else.

"That really is too far, Malfoy!" Granger growls angrily.

She folds her arms over her chest, eying her wand; I can tell she is close to striking out for it. If my attention falters, even just a little, she'll have it in her hands before I can stop her, but I don't summon her wand. I like the stakes just as they are, and quite frankly, when Granger folds her arms as the way she is now, it only makes her cleavage all the more apparent. As we stare at each other darkly, I can feel the electricity.

"It's nothing I haven't seen before, and we both know what kind of unfulfilled creature you really are," I mock, trying to ignore the new level of tension.

She glares at me but says nothing, her frown becoming tighter.

I know she has to be a virgin; it's the only explanation I can come up with, as it is quite obvious from her earlier display that there are no likely parings she shares in the trio. No one in that lot is meeting her needs. It would be laughable if those two twits even knew she had those kinds of needs. The display in the bathroom is telling, and true to form, the witch takes care of any problem she confronts, but will she take care of me, I wonder.

I don't have pure intentions, true, but they certainly don't include rape; that's so _Muggle._ No, getting her to submit will be enough fun, and I have a feeling once she does, it'll be like opening the proverbial flood gates. 

Narrowing my eyes on her slowly retreating form, I decide to pounce before she tries for her wand. Before Granger can hurl herself out of the chair, my hands find their posts; I grip her throat and wand in hand, I grab at her upper arm. I feel the smooth wood of the hawthorn wand press between her arm and my hand almost painfully. She gasps and swallows even though my hold on her throat is light. The fear on her face is alluring, mostly because I know there is nothing to fear, but I relish in what she doesn't know.

Our eyes are locked, and Granger is using her free arm to brace against me; her elbow digs into my sternum but that doesn't stop me from leaning in. Towering over her in the chair, I watch her as she studies me.

Watching her eyes follow my mouth, I smirk extra hard just for her benefit. My hand now rests lightly at her throat, and I feel drawn to teasing her even further; I lean forward, but she doesn't move to retreat like I expected she would.

I look at Granger's face. There is no hint of fear any more. She simply stares at me as I examine her.

I lean closer and she doesn't move; I can feel our breath mingle, that is how close we are now. I can feel that the pulse in her throat is rapid, and I can see that her eyes are on my lips. Before I can up the ante, the witch surprises me by bridging the gap between us.

Her mouth is soft, softer than I expected. We don't move, but rather there is a silent dare here. Electricity crackles between us, my mouth tingles, but I don't lose my head. I grab her arms and move her to stand up. If we are going to play this game, I need to be on guard and ready to move should I need to.

I feel Granger get up easily with me, and she steps closer to me, moving us back towards the desk. I quickly guess that Granger wants me to move back to the table to make another attempt for her wand. I won't make it easy on her; if she wants to get the advantage, or what she thinks is the advantage, she'll have to do a lot more than touch her lips to mine. And even though this is awkward; I revel in the sensations.

Her eyes close, and I know what she intends next. And then I feel it: her lips move and press against mine. I move mine to match hers, but my eyes never leave her face. Soon our mouths are open and battling each other as our words once did. Granger's eyes are still tightly shut, but her hands are busy. A hand closes gently around my neck as the other rests on my hip.

I smirk because I feel I am winning. This causes Granger to look at me through her lashes. Whatever it is she sees, it makes her squirm a little. I feel I should say something boorish to keep up the ruse that I don't know what she plans to do when she gets me backed up against the desk, and it's then I think of something even better than mere words.

I keep the wand pressed between us, my hand on her arm, but with my other hand, I lightly trail down her upper arm, to her forearm, to her palm, to her fingertips, only to come up her side, from her hip to her waist, across the span of her ribs to the underside of her breast. Her skin is smooth, just as I imagined it to be earlier. I am sure I must be almost grinning fiendishly, but I cannot help it.

What comes next has Granger's skin goose pimpled with agitation or lust. I'm not quite sure as her low moan sounds indistinguishable; however, I'm willing to go with lust. I palm her breast with more firmness now and delight in the supple warmth. This must be her own special button, for Granger growls lower still, and her movements become demanding. 

I think her own reaction startles her, as she quickly stills a bit, trying her hardest to move languidly and deliberately. She moves both of her hands to my hips and gently pushes me against the edge of the desk. I let her think she has the upper hand, until I push her buttons again. I roll the firm pad of her nipple gently as I hear her gasp.

"Oh, my…" she whimpers before she can stop herself.

"Draco," I supply smoothly.

Her lashes flutter open and as the hazy lust disappears, she glares at me darkly.

"Twitchy ferret," she snarls.

"Please don't flatter me with terms of endearment just yet, Granger," I snicker with amusement.

"No," Granger retorts, her eyes snapping angrily to her wand, which I now feel resting on my temple, "I mean that's what I think I'll turn you into."

"Only if you think you can hex me faster than I you," I smile.

I'll credit her with being good, but I know I'm better. I am the one still in possession of my clothing. I press her arm harder, letting my wand dig in deeper while its tip simultaneously points directly at her.

Granger scowls, and I can see her trying to think of a way out of this. I don't bother to contemplate her next move, because I'm quite sure once I'm done, she won't know up from down.

I pull her towards me to resume snogging her, only this time more harshly. She doesn't resist; no doubt her line of rationale probably goes something like this :_ "Kiss the ferret senseless, then when he's completely lust driven, hex him stupid." _

I'm sure she thinks it worked for her once, why not again. I carry on with what I set out to do. I plan to finish this exploration, of sorts, so I let my fingers work up her inner thigh, and brush against the wet fabric of her knickers. Now that is a surprise.

"Don't, " I hear her whisper, but I choose to ignore her warning. Our wands are still poised, and she knows that I'm not lost to lust quite yet. I know she won't stop me, not if she thinks she will ultimately make me pay for this trespass.

I slip past the fabric and slide against these other lips. A flash of pink comes to mind as I remember the image of only moments earlier. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't move to stop me, or utter another word to bring this to a halt. Pushing into her, I feel her grip tighten and her body tense. She has stopped kissing me and rests her head on my collarbone.

I stretch, and feel my way against the soft walls, almost like slick velvet. The thought of what it would be like to fuck her makes my head swim with anticipation; it is then I pause curiously at the presence of a small patch of ridges. Inwardly chuckling, I decide, in the name of exploration, to press the firm ridgy spot. My curiosity is rewarded when I feel her quiver a bit at the sensation. I feel around her again, soft and smooth, save the ridged patch; I wonder if I somehow missed the tell tale sign of maidenhood.

"Interesting," I whisper hoarsely into her neck.

I swallow thickly as I myself am not immune to what is happening between us.

Her nails dig into my arm, and her wand point drops from my temple to my throat. I feel her breathing heavily against me. I remove my fingers to slide against her slick folds again; I circle wet and lazily, moving up further each time. I find my finger tips grazing a firm little nub. I decide that the arrangement of female anatomy is curiously unique. I concentrate my efforts on that spot to see if it has the same effect as the ridges, and I am nearly poked in the throat as Granger shivers. I'll take that as a yes.

I sigh, half in temptation and half in determination. All good things must come to an end. If I keep up at this pace, she really will have a chance to catch me in a moment of carelessness.

I break the wordless silence between us. "So who was it, Granger?"

My question takes only a minute to sink in as Granger tries to come to her senses.

"W-what?" she asks with breathy confusion. 

"You know, which little worm got to the apple first?" I hiss in irritation. I'm not really sure why I'm irritated, she wanton, but nevertheless, it annoys me. And she can't have been that affected by what I was doing. But her heart thumps rapidly against me, and her cheeks are flushed; maybe I'm wrong.

I look at the confusion in her eyes; dark brown eyes that are so round and wide. I can tell she has no idea what I'm going on about. 

"Ah, maybe it was you, then?" I murmur, breaking away from her.

Looking over her flushed appearance, I'm reminded of the Prefects' bathroom and then it hits me. Naturally it would have to be her, she knows how to take care of herself, and she's not afraid of opening a book either. I must look contemplative to Granger, for she clears her throat to catch my attention.

"Contrary to popular belief, Malfoy, there are many ways to losing one's 'maidenhead' and for the record, it's not on the inside, it's at the opening, you idiot," she retorts authoritatively before her mouth settles into a pompous little frown.

I'm slightly stunned; the innocent confusion before was so palpable. So she is playing me, and it's not deep within after all, good to know on both accounts.

"Protego," I exclaim instinctively as I catch a sudden flash of movement. It comes so fast I'm not sure why I cast the shield until I hear Granger simultaneous bellow "Expelliarums".

My wand is in front of me making sure the shield charm holds. It is hard to take Granger seriously as she stands there in her knickers; I chuckle. For her part, Granger does not look amused. No doubt, in her estimation she almost had me, and her irritation waves prickly.

"Where are my clothes, Malfoy?" Granger demands.

"Now why would I tell you?" I laugh at her openly. "No, I think I'll let you find your way out of this one. You are Head Girl after all; I'm sure you'll think of something."

And with a wink I turn to leave her to flounder: hot, bothered, no doubt bewildered, and mostly naked. Any good adventurer will agree that it is vital to know the difference between a good time to pursue and a good time to retreat. Now is a good time to retreat, go over some of the findings, and plot another expedition when the tides are in my favor.

"I'll kill you if you bloody touch me again, Malfoy!" Granger nearly shouts after me.

"That's the Gryffindor spirit," I say, waving her off.


	3. The Apple of Her Discontent

_The Apple of Her Discontent : Hermione's POV _

My heart beats erratically as I transfigure my parchments into clothing. The resulting fabric is paper thin, but it will have to do. I cannot help thinking that I should have spent more on higher quality parchments. It would have provided a much stronger base from which to Transfigure garments.

But really, who needs to make clothes from paper, and who ends up naked in a library? I hope it all holds together, I need to make it back to my room. The thought of stealing a few pages from a high quality book does cross my mind, but I know it would be wrong, tempting as it may seem.

I need to get back to my room. This is what I concentrate on as I try to suppress the crushing swell of mortification within my chest. I have to make it back to my room; that is my immediate goal.

I try to settle myself from making angry movements. I breathe with a heavy sigh and feel the transfigured shirt move with me; it has a delicate texture to it. I can try a Strengthening Charm, but before I can apply it, I know I must calm down. I need to concentrate, even though every bit of me cries for retribution.

I bite my lip furiously, and it's not long before I can taste the metallic tang of my blood.

I can't help but to swallow back the angry tears of this gross violation. How dare Malfoy! How dare he do this to me! My hands tremble as I grip the back of the chair. I try to get a tenable grip on my emotions. I hear the wooden legs of the chair scuffle against the stone floor, and it is then that I let it all go. With a stifled sob, the chair, the tears, and my anger, all of it, comes spilling forth.

Hot tears burn at my eyes, blurring the light and shadows around me. I am so furious, livid with rage, my hands shake violently as I try smoothing the creases in my skirt. The fabric weakly resists the jerky movements of my hands; it threatens to tear if I keep on in this distracted state.

In the swirl that follows this hideously absurd encounter, I realize that I am quite scared. It was too easy for him to catch me off guard on both occasions. How long was he there? I feel my face burn with embarrassment and fury. How long did he watch on?

What does it matter how long he observed me in the Prefects' bathroom? What has happened since is undeniably more revolting. I want to scream, hurl things, and track Malfoy down for revenge.

I brush the tears away, and my face feels warm to my hands - hands that feel like cold wet clay. The contrast of the cool moist contact against the wet hot flush of anger makes me feel disoriented; this situation is unreal. My world, my very being, has been overrun; the usurper is Draco Malfoy. I have a burning need to make him suffer some manner of humiliation as I stand here shivering despite my best efforts not to. 

I will make him pay even though I can hear my mind calling out a cautious warning, a fear, that in anger, I could go too far. I know revenge is usually a disastrous means to an end, but I feel reckless and destructive. Malfoy has gone too far. Too far! I don't think I can stop what is to come, not when every bit of me demands justice, and more than the Headmaster of Hogwarts can serve. I all ready know that I can do this once more; I've done it before.

The serpent has set out to lay temptation, and I cannot resist the call to punish him for his arrogance.

"Temptation," I murmur as I let the word settle in my brain. The idea behind it catches my attention. It suddenly strikes me that every touch, each provocation, all of it, is an exploration and simultaneously a dare.

He did not set out to seduce me, but to manipulate me. Seduction implies the intent to attract, to lure, but what transpired was not seduction. Seducers are charming and do not ruthlessly taunt those they pursue. I am certain he knows that more manipulation is in order; this is Malfoy. I know with every sense I posses that he is far from finished. He'll work at me, like a worm within an apple, 'til my core is gone, and nothing remains but hollow skin. He assumes much.

I take a steady breath. I can feel my heart even out as my mind finds a steady pace. I can work myself out of this. If he thinks he can manipulate me into curiosity, into action by a fear of loss, or fear of discovery, that he can condition me into feeling desire, then he is deadly mistaken.

"Temptation," I snort. "Malfoy, I promise you, we will redefine the word together."

I straighten my posture and steel my resolve. When I am through with him, Draco Malfoy will meet some dark ruinous end. I know I should have a specific plan, but the sensible part of me grabs my attention, I need to concentrate on returning to my room. 

_"One thing at a time,"_ I think clearly and steadily.

I gather the last of my things and quietly leave the library. I don't think Malfoy will follow me; he's had his fun for now, but I am wary as I move towards Gryffindor tower. I hate how this makes me feel, like a snowflake under the microscope, so brittle, and under silent examination. I will not tolerate this. I will not melt under the heat.

I hear a sharp laugh behind me. I feel my posture falter when I recognize the pitch of that voice. I square my shoulders and turn to face the witch. I have no doubt she has played some part in tonight's disgusting incursion.

"You look like hell, Mudblood," Parkinson sneers. "Rough night was it, beaver face?"

"Twenty points from Slytherin," I say with great annoyance, "ten for insulting a fellow student with a derogatory epithet, and the other ten for being foolish enough to say them to those with actual positions of _power_. Do try, Parkinson, to remember that before losing even more points for your House."

I walk away from the scowling witch, thinking she got off far too lightly, when I hear her cackle. Her mirth makes my jaw clench, and my hand naturally curls into a tight fist.

_"Deep calming breaths, deep calming breaths," _I think repeatedly, and I concentrate.

I need to get to my room, if I can just get back to my room I will be all right. I don't know if that's true or not, but it is what keeps me together. It keeps me from melting. 

I will not let this shameless slag stand in my way, or cost me my hard-earned post by engaging in conduct unbecoming of a Head Girl.

"Oh, with a few well placed favors, I'll earn them back by the end of the night, Granger." Parkinson smirks.

True to form she cannot resist from prattling on like the cat that's caught the mouse, her voice rings falsely sweet. "So, Granger, will you be back to using the Prefects' bathroom, then, or did something happen to clear you off it?"

I look at the dark-eyed girl with the straight jet-black hair. Her eyes are wide set, her eye lids droopy. She attempts to look haughty. I have to think, if anything, the expression set before me is that of a half-wit. A malicious half-wit. Slytherin's balls, Malfoy sure knows how to pick his flunkies. Her lips are drawn tight in that sneer of hers; what on earth does anyone see in this twisted creature?

_"Deep calming breaths - deep calming breaths - deep calming breaths. I will not let her get the advantage. I will think this through," _I tell myself soothingly. I've already embarrassed myself enough tonight.

This is Malfoy's handiwork. There can be no other explanation for anyone to know so quickly. I'm quite sure if Pansy were completely involved, she would be disgusted to her black and vile core to know the whole of what Malfoy has done. I doubt he's shared that much. It is then I get an idea to test this theory. 

"Parkinson, did you know that Malfoy is fond of using his tongue to find the proper spacing between molars? And, admittedly, while his skills in dentistry do leave something to be desired, I feel he's revealed his hand, as it would seem his true preference lies in gynecology. But more importantly than Malfoy's amateur explorations of the female body, I find sexual assault reason enough to look like hell," I spit out caustically.

I watch for signs of smugness, or revulsion. I am betting on the latter. When Pansy's eyes widen, and the smug look drops from her face, I know that I have guessed right.

"I don't suppose he would mention that, would he? What, did he send a note, or were you just conveniently there, much like an afterthought, discovered only by chance passing? Are you supposed to just leer at me, and ask a few cryptic questions? I bet you thought it petty harassment at the time. But, I do have to ask," I muse, my voice tight and constricting with emotions I cannot control, "when you picture his filthy hands pawing at me, examining my insides, and that perverse mouth of his violating mine, is this what you really call revenge? It seems rather odd considering he could have just hexed me. It seems so out of place, considering who I am and who he is. Your personal lapdog? Boyfriend? Somehow, I'm thinking he's neither of those."

"You're lying!" Parkinson snaps angrily, her face contorts in fury, and she opens her mouth to spew more nonsense. "You lie, you dirty little Mudblood! YOU! No one would touch you, let alone Draco! When you leave these halls, built by better, and more pure wizards than you, you'll see. You'll see how the scum of our society will be handled for such disgusting behavior."

"I agree, Parkinson, let's see if the Headmaster shares the same sentiment. I wonder what he'll do when he hears about this _disgusting behavior_," I whisper harshly, my eyes taking in her now shaken expression.

I don't think she has considered what would happen if I went to those with actual power. Pure-blood rhetoric aside, the governors have changed, the Ministry officials have changed; on all levels the Wizarding world has changed. The balance of power has finally changed. Her threats are hollow and we both know it.

I am sure Parkinson knows what Malfoy is capable of. Her dark eyes are glinting with unshed tears. We both know that for me to go as far as I say I will; someone had to push me there.

I see Parkinson move for her wand, but this evening's events, if nothing else, have prepared me to react faster. I am more than prepared to go the full course. Whatever it takes, I will get to my room, and from there, I will sort out what I am to do next. I have the advantage here; what Parkinson and Malfoy don't know about me will come back to haunt them.

Parkinson raises her hand to point her wand shakily at me, her tears spill and she quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand. Her mouth is set in a grimace, and under her wicked scrutiny, I can tell what she plans. Gods, Parkinson you are so daft.

"Not if I Obliviate you first!" I say warningly, answering the unspoken threat that hangs between us.

I can see Parkinson means to hex me, regardless of what I say. I do not have time to see if we are completely alone. I have to quickly cast the memory loss charm. I am skilled at these, and really, after much practice, I should be. I cast it silently, but I still need my wand to cut the air to perform the charm.

As the charm does its work, I furtively look around the silent corridor. Tonight there are no witnesses, and Parkinson stands before me looking blank. Slowly, as if a great fog is lifting, she begins to blink. I decide to leave quickly, before she can come to her senses. It is best to go, it seems like the logical thing to do now. My goal is to get back to my room; Parkinson can be dealt with later.

My threat before the Obliviation had truly been an empty one; I have no intention of taking care of the situation through the proper channels. Still, I cannot help but to second-guess myself. I know this is the not the way it's meant to be done, but I don't care. I know from past experience that these things can be taken care of later.

Exhaling forcefully, I quickly take to the stairs to make my way back to my room. I don't spare Pansy a second look. Each step I take gets me closer to my goal; each swing of a staircase, as they align and lock together, brings me ever closer.

A voice repeats, "Get to your room", and I obey. I cannot think; I can only do. This is what got me through the war, and this is the methodology I fall back on. Maybe it was the war, but I wonder if this is why I feel I have permission to do this on my own.

Harry, Ron, and I at one point, or another, dealt out punishments in our pursuit of the Horcruxes. Those Dark wizards who crossed our path we maimed in the name of self-preservation, though in doing so, I'm quite sure we accomplished the opposite.

It may have not been the killing curse, or any of the Unforgiveables, but for those like Fenrir Greyback, extra measures had been taken to make them pay off the debts that never could quite be repaid. As news came our way of the losses, we took it upon ourselves to grieve in this way. This was our way of handling those who had hurt our friends, our family, and countless innocents. I quite vividly remember the day we crossed paths with Greyback. That repulsive creature had been Ron's score to settle.

That was the day I felt a piece of me die. Greyback was the first to bear the malice of our collective pain. Ron flayed him alive. It didn't kill Greyback, as a werewolf, his ability to heal is extraordinary, but it did cause him inhuman pain. What we had done was inhumane, but we rationalized it. We said he wasn't human, and those not human needed a special handling. Not long after, we easily slipped into categorizing Dark wizards a breed of their own.

Even though I know that the label "human" doesn't mean "special", I, of all people, let Ron do this to Greyback. I remember I did not turn away as he cast the spell to restrain the werewolf, and I did not call out to Ron to reconsider when he stepped up to cross the line. Greyback was already inhuman, and a cruel killer, but the piece of me that knew it was wrong, that was the first part to die that fateful night.

Malfoy wouldn't know this, of course; a select few in the Order had covered our tracks. Snape handling the worst of them, still, in the end they all lived. It was brushed under the rug by those who suspected but didn't want to know, justified by others who could sympathize, and ignored by those with the real power to stop us. As long as no one was killed, it seemed all Dark wizards were fair game.

I reflect on this again. I keep thinking what would have happened if someone had drawn the line and forbade us to cross it, if someone had been there to guide us instead of letting us stumble along. Dumbledore, I am sure, would have been the one to do it had he been alive. But I feel a bitter sweetness when I remember that it was he who had left us to stumble along.

There were no clear instructions, no clever last will and testament, or last minute hidden letter to tell us where to go next, to guide us on some kind of path. He left us vague clues and played us off each other. How could we trust in the madness that surrounded us? I remember being depressed so much of the time. I remember how I came into the habit of single mindedness, the freedom in letting myself give deference to the voice that let me do what I needed. Those were dark days.

When Hogwarts had been rebuilt, I was overjoyed. The war had been over for almost a year, and it was finally time to step out of the darkness of those times, and look to the future. I remember the day, right down to the hour; we had been invited back to properly finish the magical education that was due to us all. If nothing else, it was a right I had fought for and won. We who survived relied on luck and chance, but life requires more than that to get by. An advanced student if there ever was one, even I knew that I still needed further training and education.

I climb up the steps faster. I'm almost to the right floor, to my House's corridor. I try not to stifle these memories as I go along. They remind me how far I've come, where I have been, and why I am here.

I smile when I think about Harry, Ron, and I on the return trip to Hogwarts. The colors of this particular fall seemed more vibrant than those of any other year I could recall. Our ride in the usual compartment was nostalgic and healing. Ron had bought me a chocolate frog from the sweets trolley. He'd even been shy as he had unwrapped it for me. I retreat into that memory a little more as I swiftly head down the corridor. I'm almost there, a few more paces, and I'll be at the portrait door.

I remember that the chocolate frog had chosen that moment to hop into my blouse. Upon reflection, I think that it must have been a ridiculous sight. I had been squealing as Ron tried to slap at the frog in my shirt. We ended up smearing the chocolate on my blouse. I remember Harry's rich laugh as he teased us. Ron fumbled to help me, and we had laughed so hard.

Ron had been mortified at first, but his mood lightened when I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and reassured him it was ok, that I was ok. I remember impishly hugging him, knowing that I was smearing one of the chocolate frog legs on his shirt. I whispered conspiratorially to him; I told him not to worry, we would be fine, that there was no damage done that couldn't be repaired by a simple spell. Harry, after his own giggles, had done the honor and Scourgified our tops. 

I feel a weak tickle as a tear rolls down my cheek, and my heart swells at the memory; I'm almost to the Gryffindor portrait now. I keep that day close to my heart; it had felt like a return to innocence. We had felt playful, joyful and normal. How dare Malfoy and Parkinson take what little peace I've had since those dark and dreadful days! The Prefects' Bathroom had been my sanctuary, a place where I could unleash what I craved most during the hardest days since returning - a release. There are still a few things that are left from those times that I cannot overcome without filling this need.

I am thankful no one is around as I head up to my room. I am ever so happy that this year I am Head Girl. I need more privacy than ever before. When I reach my room, I mean to unleash a terror before collecting my thoughts. I need release; this is my new goal. I step into the comfortable setting of my room. Release, yes that is what I must do next. "One thing at a time," I tell myself.


	4. A Serpent in the Garden

_A Serpent in the Garden: Hermione's Point of View_

I ignore my breakfast and my friends' conversations, losing myself in contemplation, instead. It has been a frustrating week since the incident in the library. I can't seem to think of ways to get Malfoy back; he's never alone. I flip through the _Daily Prophet_ nonchalantly while I try to sneak a peek at my nemesis. He sips his pumpkin juice, completely unaware of how much bodily harm I want to inflict upon him.

I can't decide what bothers me more: that he acts as though nothing has happened, or that he has such control that he doesn't dare to take such risks again.

This is Malfoy. I bet the latter.

I let out an irritable sigh and look down his table to see Pansy looking morose. It seems whatever task she asked him to do, in her mind, still goes unfulfilled. He hasn't tried anything since that night. She doesn't remember our last tiff, but when I'm through with her, Malfoy will be the least of her issues.

What am I going to do with the both of them? This temporary inability to think of a way to get the both of them in one go is driving me mad. Malfoy seems to be looking over his shoulder these days, and Parkinson lacks the sense, and the important information, to know that she should.

"Hermione," Ron implores.

I snap out of my angry thoughts to give him a polite smile.

"Temperamental lately?" Harry snorts. Returning to his bowl of oatmeal, he resumes his breakfast.

I simply look at both of the boys. My lack of response prompts Ron to move a stray curl away from eyes, and rub my cheek gently. There is a soft look in his eyes. I've been unfair to my friends, and especially to Ron.

"Whatever Nargle is riding on your back, you can tell us, you know." Ron smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

I've been so unavailable lately. I miss us. I smile at Ron, and lean into his hand, nuzzling back.

"It's not important," I whisper. Malfoy is mine to deal with.

At this, from the corner of my eye I can see Harry look up. He gives me a quizzical look. But, at the moment, I only have eyes for Ron. Our relationship is growing into something a little more than friendly. Harry coughs loudly before decidedly looking the other way. I settle on shelving my thoughts of revenge for now. I'd rather enjoy a moment with someone I care for.

Ron looks impish and smitten. I sit up to swing my legs back over the bench before standing up to leave. I do need to go, but rather than hurrying off as I might have done yesterday, I lean over, giving Ron a lingering kiss on the cheek.

Ron makes me feel so happy. I sweep his hair back, and breathing into to his ear, I murmur sweetly, "Meet you in class; I'll save you a seat if you promise to take your own notes."

"Cor, don't I always?" Ron cheekily answers. He's flushed, and his eyes glint like the devil. This gives me the giggles.

"Sure you do. You know a lazy mind is unbecoming."

I start to move off, but Ron grabs my wrist. Turning over my hand, he kisses my palm. His hot breath, and feathery-soft touch make my head swoon.

"Yeah?" He quips. His breath caressing my skin; desire floods me. "But how do you know it's not some genius game plan I have to get closer to you?"

"All these years?" I chirp. "You've had this genius strategy since first-year, have you?"

He lets my hand go, and flashes a wide grin. With a wink, he smugly pronounces, "Check mate. And the best part about that is, no one loses!"

I can't help feeling cheery in the glow of his boyish charm. I shake my head, and remind him of something he's forgotten, "Yes, I'll believe that when you explain how the rest of it figures into your oh-so-strategic game plan. Lavender Brown? Victor Krum?"

Ron beams. "Pawns, the lot of them."

I laugh; yes, Brown and Krum may have been pawns, for it seemed we did use those two to provoke a move from one another.

"See you in class, Ronald Weasley, Master Manipulator of Relationships and All Things Woman."

Ron laughs at my good-natured teasing as he waves at me. Harry joins Ron's chuckles. Harry may have had the grace to look away, but the little bugger was far from eavesdropping.

Before I get too far away, Harry calls out a quick question, "Hey, why are you going so early? Class doesn't start for another hour."

"Research, Potter!" I chirp back happily.

I shake my head at them; they look scandalized at the thought of heading into class so early. With a silly smile breaking out onto my lips, I head off to Transfiguration.

I want to speak with McGonagall on how it was that Barty Crouch Jr. was able to Transfigure others into animals. I've read the theory, but I've not really asked about the practice. I don't know if I can use that knowledge, but it's worth investigating.

As I make my way towards the class, I wonder what I would do with two ferrets, or snakes. That Parkinson and Malfoy should vanish would surely cause complications. To my knowledge, there are no laws that would land me in Azkaban for casting such a spell, but inside Hogwarts, there are rules.

Rules I know very well. Such as, "Teachers are not to discipline students by Transfiguration", and "Students are not to hex each other in the halls", and therein lies the finer details of what one can do, and hope to get away with. There are times I think, should Gryffindor not have been an option, and that if it were not for blood, I should have been  
Sorted into Slytherin before Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff.

A devious smile threatens to break loose as I consider what it would be like to Transfigure Malfoy into a snake, perhaps a python, and Parkinson into a ferret. That Pansy's instrument of humiliation and torture should gobble her up, now that would be some kind of great justice. But what would I do with Malfoy afterwards? Again with the complications; revenge is tricky business.

I could always hex his balls off, but I've no doubt that with magic, Pomfrey will find a way to restore them.

I am nearing the corridor to Transfiguration when I find myself yanked back. Instinctually I close my eyes as I am being slammed into the nearest wall. The painful impact is enough to cloud my thoughts in a haze of buzzing ache.

"Getting a little comfortable these days, are we, Granger?" a smooth drawl asks. I can smell him, even as all my other senses tell me I feel pain. When I feel well enough to open my eyes, it is to glare at the owner of the voice. He glowers over me, and his hands are resting on the wall behind me.

"You're a wanker," I grit out, as I try to push Malfoy off me. "All this time I've been wondering when I would be able to catch you alone. And here you've gone and given me the opportunity."

"Language, Granger." He scowls."You're one to talk my filthy, filthy little Mudblood. Who has compromised whom, remind me again; oh, wait, that would be me towering over you after I attacked you first. What, did I not please you, and here I seem to remember you being so wet for me. Tell me, are you wet for me now?"

"Hardly!" I growl, digging my elbow into his sternum as hard I as I can.

"You know what I think?" Malfoy hisses into my ear, his hot breath is a catalyst for my release-starved body, and I shiver involuntarily, "I think you like it when I take you like this. Take you in a way that your little Weaselby only dares to dream of. It's been a week, and I have yet to see you take revenge. I think you liked it more than even you want to admit. That is why you can't think straight; tell me if I'm off?"

Before I can tell him to stuff it, he's grabs my neck and engages me in a searing kiss. I'm lost briefly to the intensity when my mind fixates on his comment. What about Ron? Is it possible he was watching yet again?

I bite his lip until I taste blood. Malfoy growls, and lets me go. Catching our breath, our eyes narrow on each other. He pants raggedly as he gingerly touches his hand to his injured lip before looking down disapprovingly at the blood on his fingers.

I grab for my wand before Malfoy can stop me.

"Petrificus Totalus!" I shout, but Malfoy has cast a Shield Charm. That nasty prat has a way of reacting all too quickly, and that is very annoying.

I glare at him in rage, and the bastard dares to smirk.

"Tsk, Granger, what happened to 'I'll kill you if you bloody touch me again', eh?" Malfoy smiles, un-phased.

"You are sick, Malfoy; really, really sick."

"No more than the Mudblood who wants me to ravish her senseless."

"Keep telling yourself that, junior rapist."

He laughs in my face, and I turn to walk away.

"Where do you think you're going? I didn't tell you you could go!" Malfoy snarls, reaching for my arm.

I dodge him, and send a Tripping Jinx his way. I am surprised to hear a thud. Turning around, I see Malfoy is lying there looking very surprised. I waste no time in Body Binding him while he is down.

I look at him and pause. Now is not the time. Classes will be starting soon, and, undoubtedly, people have started leaving the Great Hall. I stoop down to his level, and look at him properly. His eyes watch my every movement. If he could flinch, I believe in this moment that is what he would be doing.

"You have no idea what kind of hell you've unleashed upon yourself," I growl into his ear. I stand up, and kick him for all I am worth, right in his blasted stomach. Only after a muffled groan of pain escapes his lips do I release the curse. I watch on with sick satisfaction as he sputters in pain, trying to breathe.

"One could say the same for you, Granger." Malfoy coughs. He moves to his hands and knees to rest a moment. He gets up slowly, aware of my stance. When his eyes meet mine, I can tell he's on his guard now, and seems genuinely taken aback.

"Let's never do this again." I sneer disgustedly.

"No, let's," Malfoy snaps. "It's only just getting interesting. I never knew you to play so dirty. You are so very wrong, Granger. The things I know about you now only serve to prove what I've always known. Everything I've ever said about you. Deny it all you like, but we both know just how filthy you really are. You hide it from the world, but I've seen it now. I've tasted it on your dirty little lips."

"Piss off, Malfoy."

I turn my back on him as Terry Boot comes into sight. His words are meaningless; he can't know everything. He has barely scratched the surface.

Malfoy must have sensed that we were no longer alone as he doesn't say another word, and we go our separate ways. I'm not so stupid as to believe he won't come after me again. But I am so busy for the remainder of the day I can't think about what to do next. My mind is unable to concentrate when I think about Malfoy. I let Ron distract me, as I let all of the happy life things around me in. Malfoy is not worthy of the time I spend thinking of him, so I choose not to.

Later in the Gryffindor common room when I am alone, I think about Malfoy's choice of words. I don't understand how he can be jealous of Ron. As far as I am aware, he doesn't even like me. My body trembles as I remember that kiss. It is unnatural to be so aroused by one's enemy. It's sickening, and exhilarating, which makes it all the more confusing. Has Malfoy confused lust with some kind of claim? What is his fixation with me? I chide myself as I recall what he must have seen that night in the Prefects' Bathroom.

Maybe this is the way I should go about getting him back; I don't think whatever is holding him at distance can stand the sight of me with someone else. Sex does not make a relationship, nor does it count for any type of arrangement I wish to have with him, despite what his body does to mine. Still, I don't understand his motivations; I thought he just wanted to harass me, not possess me. It doesn't add up. I could consult Arithmancy charts later, I suppose.

My thoughts are interrupted for the millionth time today when warm hands cover my eyes.

"Ron." I smile. I am happy to have him here as my distraction yet again. I've been lost to these negative thoughts for too long.

"That obvious?" He chuckles, removing his hands before coming to sit next to me. Looking around, I don't see Harry, Ginny, or Neville.

"Where are the others?"

"Down by the Lake. I was sent to fetch you, and fetch you I shall." Ron beams.

I feel desire unfurl within my breast. Malfoy's attentions are unrequited, but I would be lying to say that they didn't stir something. I should probably feel guilty about this, but I'm not really that innocent.

"Or…" I say trailing off, swallowing thickly as I look at Ron's lips.

"Or?"

"Or, we could take a little detour?"

"That might be nice; I like the scenic way," Ron murmurs, before kissing me.

It is then I wrap my arm around his neck, and kiss him with all I have. Several minutes, or possibly hours, go by before I am able to break away.

When Ron finally opens his eyes, he pouts. I smile at him, and whisper, "Friends, waiting by the lake, remember?"

"Yes, there is that matter to attend to, isn't there?"

With a pout that turns into a sly grin, Ron snaps me up, and hoists me over his shoulder.

"Fetching Hermione Granger, right."

"Ronald Weasley! Put me down, I can walk just fine thank you very much!"

"Off to the lake we go, Hermione!" Ron shouts, taking off through the portrait, pretending as though he did not just hear me yell at him.

I squeal, but having Ron as my own personal taxi makes the butterflies in my stomach careen wildly in excitement. When we finally make it outside the doors of Hogwarts, I'm laughing so hard I can barely stand. Ron dumps me lightly onto the grass. He stands close to me, nearly out of breath, as he chuckles, and simultaneously groans from the exertion.

"That'll teach you to carry me around!" I snort with laughter, my sides starting to hurt.

"Oi, where does it all go? I swear most of your meals are spent with you picking at your food," he goads.

I grin at him. He should know better; I'm not going to react to such silly bait.

"Come on, the sun is starting to set!" I call out, racing off to beat him to the lake.

He easily catches up, but I give him a light shove. At this, he shouts a small profanity about me not playing fair before trying to trip me up. _Now who isn't playing fair?_

"No mercy!" He yells as he tries to grab me.

"Just you bloody try!" I laugh, dodging away from him. Hitting the lake's shore, I wrench out my wand from my pocket, stumbling a little in the processes as I send a jet of water at him.

"Ah. You'll pay for that my nicely-shaped friend!" Ron shouts gleefully; brandishing his own wand, he sets a water bubble the size of Crookshanks after me. I shriek as is it comes closer towards my head._He wouldn't dare!_

I'm sure our ruckus echoes out over the water, but I don't care. This is the most fun I've had all day. We are so caught up in our play that it's almost dark when we realize that our friends are not at the lake. Ron notices first.

"You think they'd at least leave Neville behind to tell us where they went off to."

"Ron, that's hardly fair. Neville is not our personal messaging service. Besides, you're a wizard; they're wizards, and Ginny's a smart witch. The least they could have done is left a magical note in the sand or something," I chastise. "Really, when are you going to stop giving Neville such a hard time?"

"He doesn't mind it, Hermione; I mean, half the time he's in on it."

"Half the time!" I screech a little too loudly. I have a soft spot for Neville; he's not as weak as everyone thinks he is. He had his moment in the war just as everyone else.

"Oi, eardrums! Besides, why don't we just consider this a good thing, and get back to that detour? Our friends are obviously not missing us, you know."

"Mmm, you're right," I murmur, stepping closer towards him. Neville is a big boy, and really, I don't care that the others have run off.

Ron smiles shyly, and all I can seem to think is, _"Gods how I love you, Ronald Weasley."_

We are soaking wet from our little water fight. As Ron embraces me, his skin feels wet, cold, and slippery, yet the heat of his lips on mine warms me instantly. It doesn't take us long to fall to the sand below. With an "oompf" and a couple of nervous giggles, we snog like the silly little couple we are.

Amid the passionate kisses, I can't help feeling that we are being watched. I think Ron senses my distracted state, because in a bold move, he moves his hand down my thigh, and up my skirt to stroke my core. I can't help the groan that follows. That is pleasant, unexpected, but pleasant. It's only a shame we can't do this here.

"Please, Ron," I murmur. "Not here. Too public."

"Kind of daring, though, isn't it?" he counters.

"Yes, but much too risky," I say with growing irritation. I don't like being held in this position when I clearly want to be up.

"Hermione," he moans in my ear; the wild butterflies have returned. I would love nothing more than to explore this with him -- only I want to do it elsewhere.

"Come on," I whisper, breaking out of another kiss. "Let's go."

"Just… a… little… longer?" Ron says between kisses.

I'm starting to lose my patience. "No."

Ron ignores my answer in favor of sucking on that spot my neck. I sigh; it's delightful, but not _that_ delightful.

I push Ron off, and give him what I am sure is one of the darkest looks he's received from me yet. He looks confused.

"What's wrong?"

"You! That's what's wrong; I said not here! You have to know that I wanted you to respect that."

"Merlin, I'm sorry. I thought you'd like the risk factor. You know, like a game? I thought you were into it."

I sigh, and move to sit away from him. "I think you need to head up without me."

"Aw, bollocks! I said I was sorry. I don't want to fight with you, Hermione."

"I'm not fighting with you, Ronald," I say pointedly. "I'm just stressed enough as it is. It's been hard readjusting. And I promise I will come find you after I take a moment to clear my head. I don't want to be mad with you. You didn't get the hint, and now you know. Let's not dwell, shall we?"

"Is it the thing that's been bothering you for the last week?" Ron mumbles.

No doubt he's hoping I'll tell him the reason for my moodiness, but the memory of my earlier altercation with Malfoy is not helping Ron's cause.

"Can I just have a little breathing room?"

"Sure," he grits in a mixture of typical Weasley defiance, and annoyance.

I can tell he wants me to confide in him, but Malfoy is not his problem. Malfoy -- that git is ruining things, and I haven't even found a way to pay him back, really.

Several moments pass, and I look back to see him heading up to school. I sit by the lakeside, contemplating why I felt the need to snap at my boyfriend.

_Boyfriend? We are boyfriend, and girlfriend now? When did that happen?_

I chuckle at my idiocy. Yes, I suppose that is what we are. It's not like I would let Harry snog me like that. Bleh. Harry's cute, but not in that way. Oh, Athena, Hera, and sweet Aphrodite, someone knock me out with a stunner if I ever think of Harry _**in that way**_.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I sigh. I shouldn't have snapped at Ron like that. It is not completely his fault; I was all over him just as much as he was all over me. And I could have handled his cluelessness better. Merlin knows I've had the past seven, or eight, years to get used to it. And if it hadn't been for Malfoy's perverse voyeurism and scheming, I wouldn't have cared one bit if anyone saw. I would have rightly enjoyed the risk as Ron had presumed.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have been so gruff with you. I know you didn't mean any harm," I tell Ron.

"That's interesting, Granger; I mean you nothing but harm. But your apology will be noted."

"You!" I growl. I reach for my wand, but his hand stops mine.

"Can't you take a hint, Malfoy? What part of 'hell' and 'unleashed upon yourself' are you not understanding?"

"You are a little bit of a slag, aren't you, Granger?" Malfoy drawls.

His eyes flicker up to the school in the same direction Ron had left. "Saw you getting busy with the great red oaf. Am I getting under your skin; were you wishing it was me?"

"Like I wish for Dragon Pox. Is this what you do for kicks now, Malfoy? You go around spying, having secret little wanks? How utterly pathetic."

A look of disgust flits across his face before he bothers to retort. His eyes go cold, and he sneers. "What's the matter, Granger? Finding it difficult to get off now that the Prefects' Bathroom is out of order? You know I can help you with that."

"What in the sodding hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?" I yell, trying to yank my wrist away. "I don't desire anything about you. If there is something to want, then it is unending pain for you. As far as I am concerned, for one life time, you haven't been beaten badly enough."

I try not to wince as Malfoy's grip tightens on my wrist.

"I wouldn' say such things if I were you."

"And I would let go of my wrist, _if I were you_," I threaten. "You don't scare me. You never have, and you never will."

He looks as if he's ready to slap me, and without a second thought, I steady my chin defiantly, waiting for an impact that never comes.

"So sure of yourself aren't you, Granger?" he asks. His tone is calm, but his eyes appear to be sizing me up. "You seem to be letting me touch you just fine."

"You have a hold of my wrist, you prat," I spit out. "Don't think that there won't be a price to pay."

"Is this your idea of foreplay? No wonder your little Weasel left in a huff," he purrs, moving closer to my face; he searches my expression for Merlin only knows what.

"What is your strange obsession, Malfoy? Does Daddy know you like to chase after all the pretty Mudbloods?" I sneer, pulling my wrist towards me again. Malfoy's grip is tenacious.

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger. I have a need that you will be filling. There's nothing more to it."

"When I profess my undying loyalty to Voldemort, and his lacy red knickers! You make me sic…" I rant until I'm cut off by another demanding kiss.

I won't stand for his bullshite. Using my free hand, I ball up my fist, and swing for Malfoy's jaw.

Feeling me move, Malfoy instinctively arches back. This time a slap comes, catching me unprepared. It feels wet and sticky above my lip, and my nose stings a bit; I think the prat just gave me a bloody nose.

"If this is how you were wooing Parkinson, let me say that you're going about it all wrong," I hiss, wiping the blood away with the back of my free hand. "Is this what Daddy does to Mummy? Fine examples. It's little wonder you turned out so spectacularly fucked up, you inbred little wanker."

Malfoy is oddly silent. Without emotion on his face, he grabs me by the front of my shirt, and forces me up to his eye level. I'm not scared. There is nothing this little shite can do that could compare to the torture and pain I've endured by those far worse than he. And what he doesn't know is that I don't need magic to take him down. I meet his gaze definitely.

"You are coming with me, Granger," Malfoy says menacingly.

"Are you so daft that you've forgotten you can't Apparate?" I laugh hollowly. "We're on Hogwarts grounds, you fool, and I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Wrong, Granger." He smiles wolfishly. "Various charitable trusts helped to rebuild this sodding school. Guess who shelled out the most shiny galleons for the best contractors?"

I strike out at him again, but he whips my arm behind my back and pulls me to him. Before I can unwind myself, I feel his wand pressing into my throat as his other arm wraps around my breasts, thus pinning me to him. It is then, in the exact moment I try to head butt him, that the world closes in, and into a violent crack of air, we vanish.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks to Weasleywench for beta'ing. And thank you to those who reviewed, I truly appreciate your feedback. :)


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